


The Lesser Evil

by FanaticDomainExpert (orphan_account)



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner, maze runner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 03:12:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5358968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/FanaticDomainExpert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of the kid who volunteered to go down after the Box.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lesser Evil

He had volunteered. It was a decision he regretted the moment he made it, but things blurred after that, and now he finds himself walking towards the hole where the Box was yesterday, makeshift rope in his hands, murmuring voices behind his back.

It’s too late to back out now. Best case scenario: he makes it down, figures out where exactly the Box comes from, returns with new information and together with the other Gladers, figures out way to escape. 

He peers down into the seemingly endless pit, and remembers how they never heard the supplies they threw down hit the bottom.

The jumble of vines in his hands shake.

Yeah. There is little to no chance this escapade is going to end with him coming out alive. 

“Oi, Kevin! Getting cold feet, are ya?” The other boys clustered around him snicker, the cacophony of laughter pounding against his skull. He inhales sharply, curling his fingers tightly around his lifeline.

He knows that voice all too well. Its nasally barbs had bombarded him for months.

More than anything, he doesn’t want to go down - but if he doesn’t, the ceaseless teasing and harassing will undoubtedly increase tenfold. He did volunteer to prove his worth, after all.

Death? Or humiliation? Which was the lesser evil?

“Look at the klunkhead’s face. The Greenie’s turning green!” More ugly laughter erupts from behind him..

He unwinds the vines and throws one end down. Without looking at his tormenter, he wordlessly hands the other end to Newt, who takes it with a nod. Newt motions forwards some other boys - Peter, Ahmed, Jacque - and they take up the trailing rope behind him, each thumping him on the back.

The unspoken message: Don’t screw this up, Kevin.

Hand over foot, he carefully makes his way over the precipice of where the two worlds merge, taking one last look at the familiarity of the Glade before it fully disappears from his view. 

He wills his trembling hands to still and hopes the other end remains taut. He trusts Newt and Ahmed, but Peter’s he’s never really talked to, only seen around. And Jacque is an enigma. They’ve shared a few pleasant conversations over a plate of Frypan’s goods, and Jacque had seemed like he had liked him. But he had also averted his eyes every time Kevin shot him a smile.

His foot almost slips out of its crevice, and he curses himself for losing focus. 

Think about Jacque later. Survive now.

Down and down he goes.

The oppressive silence of the hole threatens to suffocate him, and he tells himself that the faint rustling he hears is just a product of nerves. 

He maintains this delusion until it starts to get louder. And closer. 

Kevin pauses, and without loosening his grip on the rope, looks around him for the source of the noise. His mind is whirring, his already vivid imagination going into overdrive. It could be a Griever. It could be anything. He tries not to dwell on it, but his brain has already concocted a million different beings that could kill him in a blink of an eye, each more horrific and grotesque than the previous.

Stop it. Climb.

He gropes in the dark for his next foothold, and something flies out of the shadows, blindingly fast. He moves to dodge it, but it has already sliced across his body in an arcing motion, separating torso and legs in one swift go. The blood gushes out of his severed abdomen, and it burns. Kevin grits his teeth against the excruciating pain, and a metallic tang blossoms between his clenched jaws. He lets out a guttural scream.

Death? Or humiliation? Which was the lesser evil?

His eyes roll back in his skull. 

And Kevin Chau is dead.

xxXxx

He had volunteered. It was a decision he regretted the moment he made it, but things blurred after that, and now he finds himself walking towards the hole where the Box was yesterday, makeshift rope in his hands, murmuring voices behind his back.

It’s not too late to back out.


End file.
